


Willow's Errand

by HeyPassTheAngst



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Klei: (doesn't give characters full backstories), Look for my sake let's pretend the orphanage is in one piece so I can finish this and die, Me: It's Free Real Estate, NOW WITH 20 PERCENT MORE CANON DIVERGENCE, Original Character(s), big suffering in this, successful escape from island AU, thanks Klei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-06-08 18:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15249732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyPassTheAngst/pseuds/HeyPassTheAngst
Summary: After escaping The Constant, Willow and Wilson are ready to start their new life together. But before Willow can focus on her future, she needs to confront her past.





	1. Next of Kin

**W A N T E D**

**Homes for Children**

**Under the auspice of the Children’s Aid Society, a company of orphan children will be delivered to Town Hall on the 3rd of May, 1902, this Friday at 12:00 PM. Boys, Girls, Babes, all fine and in good health; Friendless and in need of common schooling and hard-working American upbringing. Merchants and Farmers or other such trade preferred for interested parties. Must come with a recommendation from the local committee.**

**A formal address will be given by the agent prior to the viewing.**

 

_Willow could see the flyer from the window of the passenger car. It had been nailed haphazardly to the utility pole outside, and she could see a few more like it on the other side of the building in which people were gathered, listening to the address and waiting to see them. And put them to work. Like they were in the market for a new ox to pull their plow with. And in a way, they were._

_The other kids were piled up by the windows with her, watching as the address seemed to conclude and they raced to the front of the car, lining up like little soldiers. Willow didn’t move an inch. Instead she pulled out her lucky lighter to play with it before they could all be carted off the mercy train._

_Maybe indentured servitude wouldn’t be so bad? It wasn’t quite the same as getting adopted but maybe she’d catch the eye of a decent family. Like welders! She could probably do that, or professional charcoal makers! Was that a thing? She crossed her fingers._

_Then again, nobody at the last stop had wanted her either. Or the stop before that. “We’re looking for a boy, you got a boy?” “No she won’t do, her hair is much too dark. She needs to look like my other children.” There was a lady in Connecticut who had seemed interested, until she tried to make sure Willow had all her teeth and she bit. Hard._

_Actually, she’d be surprised if they let her off the train at all anymore. She’ll probably end up back at the orphanage. She had nowhere else to go._

_Whatever. She didn’t need the pity of some podunk townsfolk to make her feel good about herself. She was great! She was smart and cute and a real tough cookie, and eventually somebody somewhere would see that. And they would be nice! They would trust her enough to leave the matches on the counter and they wouldn’t try to take Bernie away because she was six now and too old for a teddy._

_She heard the door open and flicked her lighter shut._

\--

“Willow?”

Willow turned to face Wilson. She had been staring out the window of the taxicab for a while now, reliving that dreadful memory. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?” He had a concerned look on his face that accentuated the dark circles under his eyes. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Oh. Uh, Yeah. Just annoyed.” She turned away again to stare out the window, twiddling her thumbs anxiously.

Elope with Wilson and forget everything: The Island, Maxwell, and this. This city and everyone in it. That had been her brilliant plan. But a minister couldn’t ordain them without ID, of which Willow had zero. And no birth certificate to get one with.

So now she was here. In the last place she’d ever wanted to see again. And The Constant hadn’t exactly been a cakewalk so that was quite the accomplishment!

“Can’t be helped I suppose.” Wilson said plainly. She felt his hand come to rest on her thigh and turned to meet his gaze. He had a visage of reassurance and calm.

She gave a timid smile and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.” It was a half truth. She didn’t ever want him to see… this. _What_ she was so explicitly. But she’d be lying if she said she wanted to do this mess all alone.

“If you’d rather I wait in the car, I don’t mind you know.” Wilson said.

“No, no you can come with me.” Willow replied. Her voice faltered though and Wilson caught it.

He gave her a look of sympathy, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

Silence.

“Willow I…” Wilson began, “You know that I don’t think any… less of you, right?”

“Yeah,” She said. “You told me that.” But that didn’t mean a part of her didn’t deny it. Ages of being a ratty little orphan would do that to you, she figured. The look on his face when she finally got up the courage to admit that she didn’t have any family, no dowry, no last name, not a soul she could call a friend but him and the folks they had worked with to survive in The Constant… Recognition, sympathy, but not shock. Not surprise. Wilson wasn’t as dense as the others liked to think he was. She had never talked about her home, or anything she had left behind. Over the years of being friends Willow had spoken very little of who she was but the things she had done had no doubt spoken volumes. Her mannerisms, while not wholly crass (most of the time) were unladylike, and she seemed to detest the idea of caring what people thought of her, like it was a hinderince. He had opened his mouth to say something only to close it again, and then close the distance between them. Willow had wanted to cry but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She traced the outside of Wilson’s palm with her thumb. He was cold. Probably anemic or something. Must be why he never minded the size of her fires.

Geez, did she really need a big fire right about now.

“We’ll be done before you know it.” Wilson said, trying to cheer her up. “Almost seems a shame to have come all this way just for an errand that’ll take us a few minutes. Maybe there’s something nice we can do while we’re in town, hm?” He offered.

She gave him a look that said, ‘I’d rather be hit by the train we rode in on.”

“Or we could just stay in the motel and entertain ourselves, that’s also fine.” Wilson added hastily. “Although they did just re-open the Field Colombian museum and I hear they have- Sorry… I’m just upsetting you.” He averted his eyes, scratching at his wild black hair sheepishly. She couldn’t help but smile watching his fingers entangle themselves in the fuzzy mass; it reminded her of a playful campfire, dancing around her digits as if it had a mind of its own.

She ruffled his hair a bit. “I’m not mad at you, Fluffy.” she explained, ignoring the little sound of indignation he made at her messing up his rat’s nest.

The taxi pulled to a stop, and her smile dropped. There it was: Dr Williams Home for Disadvantaged Youths. The yard had fallen into more disrepair than she had remembered, but it looked mostly the same. Some kids were playing ante over together closest to the fence. One played hopscotch alone. Others played with dollies; raggedly little things that were falling apart, probably had been there since Willow was a baby.

Wilson handed the driver his fee and stepped out of the automobile. Willow didn’t move until he opened the door for her. She felt numb. Wilson looked at her expectantly as they stood on the curb. A few of the younger kids gathered at the fence to look at them. Must have thought they were here to adopt, the poor little things. She had to look away from them to keep her composure. “Let’s just get this over with.” She said.

They ascended the steps and entered an office that, while not disheveled or unclean, had seen its fair share of use. They passed a seating area which Willow could only assume was for consultations with adoption applicants (she wouldn’t know), and rung the bell at the front desk, behind which sat rows and rows of file cabinets. Probably filled with the confiscated belongings of children.

Or just files. Maybe.

She gripped Wilson’s shoulder as a tall woman with a steely gaze came to the desk to meet them.

“Good afternoon, madam.” Wilson said cheerfully.

She returned a nod and put on her spectacles. “How can I help the two of you?” The sound of her voice made Willow imagine a temple crumbling.

“We’re looking for a birth certificate.” Wilson said. “We assumed we’d find it here.”

“Fancy that,” The woman drawled, “I assume you know the birth certificate you’re looking for, and not just any old one?”

“Um-” Willow paused a moment, more uncomfortable and withdrawn than she had felt in a long time. “Mine.”

The old woman raised an eyebrow. “I see. You were admitted here I take it?”

Ugh. ‘Admitted’ makes it sound like she was some kinda nutcase pill popper. “Yeah.”  

“Did your guardians not receive your file upon your adoption?”

“I uh… I wasn’t adopted.” Willow felt a stone in her stomach. Her departure from the orphanage hadn’t been out the front door, per say. Or, at least, it had been, just not with the blessing of the staff. A bit of practice with a bobby pin she had found in the yard had seen to that. At the time, she didn’t think she’d be noticed missing, but now the thought that her sudden disappearance might have caused trouble for the institution, (and that she might have been recorded on her file someplace as a runaway) filled her with dread.

“Hmph. And didn’t think to take it with you when you left.” She looked agitated now, clearly not looking forward to searching through mountains for records for some random lady. She turned towards the cabinets. “First name? And last if you have it.”

“...Willow.” She murmured, just loud enough for the woman to hear.

The woman started pulling open cabinets, leafing through files with haste. Her mouth was a tight line, extenuating the wrinkles at the corner of her lips. “Understand, it’s probably been some time since… How old are you now?” She asked Willow.

“Uh, 25.”

“Right then. Fingers crossed it’s still here after all this time.” She replied frankly.

A good while passed. Willow was starting to focus in on her surroundings. The distant sound of passing automobiles. Children squealing outside. Wilson tap-tap-tapping his fingers on the wood of the desk. He gave her a small smile which she returned on reflex.

“Alright, let’s see then.” The woman at the front desk turned to face them with a folder in her hand, tugging out a sheet of paper that was yellowed and frayed slightly on the edges. “Hair: Brown, Eyes: Gray-” she looked Willow over, “Looks like you, alright.” She scanned the page again. “Last name Devlin, born 1896 on the First of April. April fools, eh?” She closed the file and handed it to her. Willow stared at it and blinked.

“Well come now, we don’t have all day.” The woman said, cross now.

Wilson squeezed her hand gently and she snapped out of her daze, taking the file gingerly. Her fingertips felt icy cold at the sensation of touching the thing but she knew that was only her imagination.

“Normally we wouldn’t just give out birth certificates willy-nilly, but since yours has been floating around for so many years I can’t see the harm in it. City Hall doesn’t care to keep track of these things anyway.” The woman said, matter of factly. “I don’t have time to help you two anymore. You will probably have to get into contact with city council to answer any questions you may have, Miss Devlin.” She left the room with an air of finality.

_Miss Devlin._

The name was foreign to her, hanging in the air unclaimed like forgotten stockings on a clothesline. Surnames were so unnatural to her. She felt like a Willow, always had, and that was that.

Willow was silent, staring daggers at the file like it owed her money.

“Willow?” said Wilson, a bit timid, “Are you alright?”

She didn’t answer him right away, opening the file and reading through it against her better judgement.

**Mother: (Full Name) Gwendolen Devlin                     Father: (Full Name) Unknown**

She had born out of wedlock. Heh. So she really was somebody’s mistake. The mechanical text from the typewriter was interspersed with handwritten notes in barely legible scrawl, obviously added by staff at some later date. Nothing incriminating, surprisingly, and the only thing notable to Willow was her underlined mother’s name, accompanied by a scribble that said: “Deceased”.

A pang of disappointment gripped her heart. It surprised her, and suddenly she wanted to burn this file. Really really _really_ badly.

“Willow? Darling?” Wilson said softly, touching her shoulder tenderly to rouse her from her thoughts.

She looked up at him, closing the file as she did so. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go.” She turned on heel quickly to leave and in her haste stumbled, spilling the contents of the file onto the floor. Wilson caught her by her arms and looked her over. “Are you sure about that?”

Willow ignored him and bent down to retrieve the fallen paper and stuff it into the folder, getting more and more irritated by the moment.

“Please don’t be upset with me…” Wilson said timidly.

“I’m not! I’m-” Willow stopped short. “I’m just really bummed out right now. Sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.” She paused, resting her hands in her lap with shut eyes.

Wilson stooped down to her level as non-awkwardly as his center of gravity would allow and gazed at her lovingly. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m really proud of you. I know this wasn’t easy for you… I-” his voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

Willow scoffed, meeting his gaze with dreary eyes. “After all the crazy things we had to do this is what does it for you, huh?” She couldn’t hide the smile creeping up on the side of her mouth.

“Yes. I, er.” Wilson twiddled his thumbs. “I never got the chance to say this properly… maybe we should wait until we get back into the car.”

Willow’s focus was back on the floor. “I think I’d rather fight Deerclops then feel what I’m feeling right now…” She paused at the final page as a word on it caught her eye. She read it, slowly, then again to fully grasp it. Her mouth feel open.

**Next of Kin: (Full Name) Colleen Devlin**

**Relation: Aunt**

She still had family.

“Is that…?” Wilson said, peering over her shoulder. He flinched when she turned to face him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“No it’s fine, I just…” Willow’s mind went blank as she read and re-read the words on the page several times. ‘Next of Kin.’

Wilson hummed and watched her. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I didn’t expect to see that I still had close-ish family alive.” Or at least, she thought they were still alive by this time. She hadn’t even really expected to find out what either of her parents’ names were. “And now that I know I have them I don’t know what to think.”

Wilson pondered this for a moment, very unsure it seemed of what to say. “Do you… want to get in touch with them?”

Willow didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to make a decision now.” Wilson said.

She looked at the file and felt the give of it, making waves in the card stock absentmindedly. “When’s the next train out of Chicago?” She asked him in an uncharacteristically mousey tone.

“Another couple days.”

Willow wanted to say ‘no thanks’ and walk away from this whole ordeal. Pretend the whole thing had never happened, and go back home with Wilson to New England. She wanted to stay in the motel room all weekend, pestering her mate until they fell asleep together and just forget that the world outside them existed again. It had been that way for a long time.

But for the life of her, she couldn’t.

“I’ll sleep on it.” Willow finally said. “But probably not.”

“That’s alright.” Wilson replied. “Are you hungry at all?”

“I could eat.” Years of being stuck in the woods had put her in the habit of eating consistently when possible. Even if she was anxious as all get-out and really didn’t want anything in her stomach right now. She figured Wilson was starving anyway and needed the excuse; they had been on that train for several hours. He was just too polite to tell her he wanted food, the big dofus. 

“Great! I think you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten, too.”

She didn’t know about that, but the sooner they left this dump the better.

 

\--

 

Willow’s thoughts had been racing through her head the whole day and it was only on a full stomach and sore legs that she had managed to fall asleep.

Sometime around midnight she was awake again. Wilson wasn’t in bed yet. She found him in the corner of the room, huddled around a gaslight and tinkering away at something.

“Wilson?” She called out to him from bed.

He jumped at the sound of her voice before turning to face her. “Oh! You’re awake.”

“Did I spook ya?”

“A bit. Sorry.”

She giggled. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Force of habit, I think.” He replied, turning back to his project.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked.

“Oh, uh… I wanted it to be a surprise, but…” He turned to face her with Bernie in hand. “I was almost done anyway.”

Since they had escaped the Island the bear had seen better days. It must have been sheer willpower alone on Willow’s part to ensure that he had survived the elements. A patch of beefalo wool here, a thread of spider silk there… she had lost track of all the times the teddy needed repairing. He had fallen into disrepair again, his shoulders torn, exposing his stuffing and as of everything that had been going on since their daring escape, so hadn’t really had time to think about fixing him. And yet here Wilson was, sewing him back up in the early hours of the morning for her.

“Awwww” she cooed. “You fixed him!”

“I thought you might sleep better if you had him with you.” Wilson paused to scratch the back of his neck. “But you were knocked out before I could think of it.”

“You’re sweet, you know that?”

“I try.”

He brought Bernie to her and she cuddled him. He chuckled.

“What?”

“I just remembered something from before.”

“What was it?” Willow asked, scooting over and patting the side of the bed next to her. He joined her.

“I was remembering the first time Bernie ever got damaged.”

Willow remembered that too. Although not very vividly. She mostly just remembered fear from being woefully unprepared for a hound wave and then the overwhelming panic when she realized that Bernie had gotten his leg torn off in the scuffle.

“Your arms were torn to shreds and instead of going to the infirmary you ran to Winona’s camp and begged her to fix him.” Wilson said.

“Yeah, I remember that.” said Willow. “You looked like you were going to snap your cap.”

“I was worried about you! You were bleeding like a stuck pig and all you could think about was the bear.” He exclaimed. “It’s funny, in hindsight.”

“Guess so.” Willow said with a shrug.

Wilson cleared his throat after a long pause. “But I know how much he means to you now.”

He had love in his eyes.

Willow cradled his face in her hands and gave him a chaste kiss on his forehead, humming with contentment and he wrapped his arms around her and sighed.

“Just,” he whispered into her collarbone, “don’t forget I’m here, too. I said I’d always be here.”

That’s what he had told her that night too, when her priorities had led to an argument at the main camp that had gotten everyone staring. With teary eyes he had told her she was his friend and that friends didn’t let other friends bleed to death. It wasn’t her and the bear against the world anymore, after all.

“Would you come with me to meet my aunt?” she murmured.

“Of course I will. Do you... do you _want_ to meet your aunt?”

“Maybe…” Willow said, hesitantly. “I don’t think she’ll want to see me.”

“I think you deserve answers.” Wilson said firmly. “That is, if you want them.”

“I don’t think I know what I want any more.” she said.

He hummed into her shoulder. “You don’t have to… I should let you get back to sleep.”

“I think both of us should be sleeping,” Willow said, tugging on his waistcoat as he moved to get up, “please, I want to hold you…”

He was happy to oblige.

The sound of his snores was like home to her. He was the most home she had ever had. And something about that changing deeply terrified her. She wasn’t entirely convinced that trying to find her aunt was a good idea, but something in her wanted to know the truth. She knew if she left Chicago now she’d never have the nerve to come back and reconnect with her family. But maybe it was better that way.

She played with her lighter a bit before falling asleep again, hoping she would have more gumption to make a decision in the morning.

  



	2. A Tale of Two Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arrrrggrhhh this chapter was tricky and the next one is probably going to be worse. 
> 
> Sorry for the slow update! I finally had some free time and motivation so here's the pain, finally.

_“Five...six....seven and...eight!” Gwen chirped. She had finished counting up the days earnings and was quite pleased with the results; she knew father would be too. She closed the register and looked about the room. The gas lamps that illuminated her evening shift needed to be snuffed out, and the floor swept. She grabbed the broom and started her closing ritual, the sound of her shoes clacking on the hardwood echoing in the empty store._

_It had been like this for a while now. You could only sell so many candles in a day, and since the recession had hit father had been forced to find a second job to help them make ends meet. Colleen typically opened in the morning before going home to her husband for the evening, which she didn’t mind at all; it gave her an opportunity to be alone with her thoughts for a while before their father returned home from work. Besides, night time was the best time for people-watching._

_There was something about being under the light of the moon that just made people more lively; more like themselves. The darkness was a romantic place, full of secrets and allure. A time of drink, of ladies in waiting, and of sweet nothings. Street lights were islands in a sea of mystery, drawing people into the open like moths to a flame, where she could see laughter in their eyes and flush in their cheeks..._

_Just as she had finished sweeping the doorbell rang, and in sauntered a bloke she had met many times before._

_“Hello, Mr. Morrison”, she said, trying not to roll her eyes, “you know we close at this time.”_

_He smirked and removed his hat, as though to project some air of formality she knew he didn’t possess. “I had an urgent need, I’m afraid.”_

_“An urgent need for candles?” Gwen scoffed. “Just how many lights can one man go through in a week?” He had made a habit of coming twice a week for some months now, lingering in the door for an inappropriate amount of time, side-eyeing her before eventually leaving with a stack of wax in arm, probably out of obligation._

_“Plenty, granted a man has a spacious home, Miss Devlin.” He tossed her a wink. “However, I’m not interested in candles this evening.”_

_“Oh?”_

_There was a look of mischief plastered on his face as he reached to pull something out of his coat pocket. “A little birdie told me you liked to listen to music, hm?”_

_Gwen blinked at him. “We don’t get to hear it very often. My father doesn’t care to play it in the house.”_

_“I assume that’s why that phonograph of yours is without a cylinder.” he said, pointing towards the corner of the room where the lonely machine sat._

_“That thing? It was my sister’s wedding present.” Poor Colleen didn’t even have the space to put it now, much less afford to buy things to play on it. All it was now was a symbol of frivolity from better times._

_“Is your father in?”_

_“Not yet. Why?” Gwen asked, an eyebrow cocked._

_Mr. Morrison waved a wax cylinder in front of her. “Let’s misbehave a bit.”_

_Before she knew it he was behind the counter, tinkering away at the phonograph with a wide smile on his face. Gwen found his enthusiasm endearing, where others thought it grating. He was a brash man who was fond of the bottle, but he was tender now, in moments like this._

_A peppy little ragtime number started to play; an enchanting piano piece muddled by the crunch of static and Mr. Morrison, who was humming along with it incessantly. “Well” he asked, “What do you think?” He swirled around, arms outstretched as though he were doing the two-step with a specter._

_Gwen chortled, arms crossed. “I think you look ridiculous, dancing with nobody.”_

_He flashed his pearlies at her. “You’re quite right. You should be dancing with me instead.”_

_She looked away, blushing. “I don’t know how, really.”_

_“It’s a snap!” He held his hand out to her, lashes fluttering, “Just do what I do.”_

_His eyes, a steely color, seemed to hypnotize her, like a lost traveler led astray by the glow of the Will-o-the-Wisp. She couldn’t resist obliging him._

_Gwen attempted to mimic him but was mostly distracted by the sensation of his hand at the small of her back. She squealed when he dipped her, and snorted when he tried his hand at singing along with the music. “That sounds wretched.”_

_“Prefer instrumental?”_

_“Hardly, you just can’t sing.”_

_They parted when the song ended, and she looked down at the floor sheepishly. “I did enjoy the music. Thank you… I should close, now.” She said plainly._

_“Right,” he waved her off, “I can take a hint.” He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his pipe. Then he produced an ornate lighter and got his tobacco fix. Gwen took pause to admire it._

_“That’s lovely.”_

_“Hm? Oh, this old thing.” Morrison said, turning it over in hand as he puffed smoke. “It was my mothers’. Never cared for it; too bulky.”_

_“It’s very pretty, though.” It looked to be of pewter, with an elegant floral pattern and a nice wide handle. Wide enough for small hands but certainly not for Morrison’s._

_“I’d rather fuss with a matchbook.”_

_“You like to make things difficult for yourself.” She countered, hands on her hips._

_“That depends,” he said slyly, “sometimes it’s more amusing when things are difficult.” He was about to turn to leave, but then stopped short. He pushed the lighter into her hands, closing one over the other tightly. “It’s yours.”_

_“What?” She said, dumbfounded. “I can’t-”_

_"Sure you can. Use it to light your pretty candles.” Hat in hand, he stepped out into the night. He gave her a sultry sort of look in the doorway, and when he seemed satisfied with her reaction, he was gone._

_The scratchy sound of the cylinder still turning was the only thing she could hear over the pounding of her heart._

 

_\--_

 

“Looks like this is the place”

It had been surprisingly easy to find out where her aunt was. It had helped that the storefront had borne the family name: Devlin Candles and Botanics. She laughed bitterly when she saw it. Oh the things that could have been…

A sign reading ‘OPEN’ hung from the inside window of the shop. Under it was a small display case with a wide array of candlesticks in different colors, smelling salts, lamp oil and the like. Wilson chuckled and pointed at something inside; a beeswax tea candle in the shape of a woeful cherub. “It looks like Wendy.” he said, hoping that getting a giggle out of her would calm her nerves. She offered a smile and Wilson returned it, considering it a capital effort on her part.

Willow could see a figure move from one side of the room to the other through the glare of the glass and she suddenly felt nauseous.  

“Are you going to be alright?” Wilson asked.

She nodded.

“Okay.”

The bell that signaled their arrival in the shop nearly made her jump out of her skin. By the time they made it to the front desk she felt like she was breathing lead. A woman who was definitely not old enough to be her aunt approached the counter, and she expected that to make her feel better, but it didn’t.

“Good morning,” Wilson said, not before waiting to see if Willow would make first contact.

“Morning? It’s past noon now, mister.”

“Er, yes quite.” he scratched the back of his neck and averted his eyes, more annoyed than embarrassed. “We were looking for someone. A Colleen Devlin?”

“What do you want my ma for?” The woman asked, eyeing them suspiciously as she looked them up and down.

“Erm, we're not soliciting or anything.” Wilson assured her, “We were hoping to ask a few questions.”

She crinkled her nose a bit, looking not entirely sure she believed it before finally turning to leave the room. “Gimme a minute.” she said, disappearing.

Willow looked down at her feet. The toes of her heels were scuffed and her stockings had holes and flyaway threads. She was regretting not taking up Wilson on his offer to buy her new clothes when they had settled in together. For the longest time she had never cared, and Wilson had been an excellent enabler of that, particularly when their priority was survival and about the only reason the big lug ever had to shave was when it got too hot out.  

The silence was broken when they caught the noise of hushed whispers in the back room. Wilson tried to drown it out, knowing it was impolite to eavesdrop, but Willow had no such compunction.

“Do they look like pencil-pushers?”

“No, but why else would they be here?”

“I’ll handle it.”

Moments later a short, somewhat heavyset woman came out to greet them. Her hair was so blonde it was nearly white, and she had an eerily familiar scowl.

“How can I help you two?” She said this placidly, but her narrowed eyes betrayed her air of calm.

Wilson cleared his throat. He seemed to be waiting for Willow to say something.

She steadied her nerves and spoke. “Are you Colleen?”

“That’s right.”

Willow froze, lamenting at the loss of feeling that had suddenly overtaken her extremities. Oh god...she was going to throw up. She felt faint.

Colleen’s deadpan face contorted into one of alarm. “God lord girl, you’re white as a sheet. What’s the matter with you?”

“Darling?” Wilson said, grasping her arm to steady her. “Are you alright?”

“I-I don’t know.” Willow said with a sputter. “My chest feels tight.”

“Have her sit down,” Colleen said, moving to the doorway behind her, “In here.”

“No I-” Willow brought a hand up to her hammering heart. “I couldn’t. I can’t”

“Nonsense.” the woman said. “You’re shaking like a leaf.” Her expression was softer now, evidently put more at ease. She brought them into the parlor, a shoebox of a room with boxes of knick-knacks and other junk stacked from the floor to the ceiling. “Pardon the mess, there’s a couch in the corner there. I’ll fetch some water.”

Willow looked about the room for distractions, and finding none, pulled out her lighter and stared transfixed at the flame. It wasn’t a cure, but it provided a small relief.

She hated this. This strange numbing sensation that traveled up her arms like shadow hands; each twinge of pain reminiscent of a fist closing around her heart. She had never felt anything like this before and it shook her to her core.

A bizarre memory flashed into her head. She had lent Bernie once to the Strongman, who was having a rough night without sleep; eyes staring vacantly at nothing in the dark. Poor Wolfgang who would have the nerve to take on mobs of heinous creatures on his own one moment only to cower from something seemingly benign the next. Like little Wendy. She still didn’t quite understand that.

But she wasn’t in danger now, so why did she feel like the world was crashing down on her?

Colleen was back with a glass of water in hand. Willow took it but made no move to drink it. The pressure of Wilson’s hand clutching her shoulder was the only thing that kept her grounded in this moment; that, and Colleen watching her with intrigue.

“You two wanted to see me for something?” she asked. “Or perhaps now isn’t a good time.”

“No.” Willow said defiantly. “Now is fine. I just… I need a minute.”

She flicked her lighter on again, not in the mood to care what Colleen might think about the compulsion. She needed to see the fire. She _needed_ it.

The room became deathly quiet again. It felt like an eternity to Willow, but it was only a few moments before she heard the sound of Colleen’s breath hitch just loud enough, shattering the silence like a hammer on glass.

She was staring at her lighter.

Wilson shifted awkwardly. Willow was hyper focused on the sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the room. Colleen opened her mouth but she seemed to have already abandoned the idea of saying anything. Holding out her hand to Willow she gave her a pleading look. At first she resisted, clutching it to her chest as though it were as precious as gold; and to Willow it was. But Colleen seemed insistent and… sad.

Eventually she relented, placing the lighter into her outstretched hand, tentatively, like she was afraid that her fingers would close on it like a snap-trap. They didn’t. Instead, she just held it. She traced the pattern of the flowers with care, as if she were caressing a loved one.

“We’re uh, quite sorry for the intrusion...” Wilson said, not really registering the cryptic quiet as anything but awkwardness.

Willow didn’t say anything else until Colleen spoke. “Where did you get this?” She asked.

Something told Willow that she already knew.

“I’ve always had it.” she said. She brought a hand up to her breast in some attempt to get her palpitations under control. “I’ve… I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

Colleen handed the lighter back to her. There was a strange look on her face. “You wanted to see me.”

Willow couldn’t keep up the eye contact. She managed to mummer a “Yeah”, before averting her gaze to the floor.

Colleen hummed contemplatively. Then she turned on heel and went back to the doorway to get the attention of her daughter, who was still at the register; no doubt listening in.

“Bridget, mind the shop. I’m going to have a chat with your cousin.”

 

\--

 

Having lived in a rugged, wide open wilderness for so long, it was easy for Willow to feel a bit starved for space since she had come back to her own world. Matters weren’t really helped that Wilson’s… (House? That seemed charitable) wasn’t the biggest or most minimally decorated. Then again, her experience with residential living spaces were pretty much null, unless you counted the orphanage.

That said, this loft was making her feel claustrophobic.

It had been messy downstairs, but this was practically unlivable. Boxes and boxes of what seemed to Willow to be rubbish; receipts, faded photographs, letters written in chicken scratch, weathered old paintings, and even trash like used handkerchiefs. Shelves were entombed behind rows of containers filled with random articles of clothing, most of which were moth-bitten or out of style. The floor was so soiled from years of traffic that the original color of the hardwood was lost to time; the only space left in the room occupied a coffee table and a few threadbare armchairs.

She stirred her tea and tried to imagine what it was like to live in one place for so long.

“You know it’s incredible”, Colleen paused her sipping, “you really don’t look a thing like her.”

She said this so contemplatively that Willow thought at first she was speaking to herself. Willow didn’t have anything to add but to raise her gaze from her cooling cup.

Colleen put down her cup and rose from the table to extract a yellowing photograph from a nearby box. She handed it to Willow, who reluctantly took it in her hands and examined it.

It was a young woman, probably no older than 17. Fair hair fell to her shoulders in thin wisps. She looked at the camera with a puckish expression.

“That was her birthday. I can’t remember which one.” Colleen said. “She hadn’t gotten her picture taken then since she was a babe.”

She sat down again, watching Willow with interest. “She was pretty. Shared my eyes; green runs in the family.”

Willow lifted a hand to her neck and ran her fingers through her hair on reflex. It was dark. Her aunts’ was blonde, her mothers’ too, it seemed. She thought about all the times she had looked in a mirror and found gray eyes staring back at her instead of green. It had never mattered before, but now it did, somehow.

Colleen wasn’t talking anymore. Willow felt Wilson shift uncomfortably next to her. She watched him sip his tea out of politeness for a time, taking only slight pleasure in watching him grimace. She made a mental note to find him a proper cup of coffee later.

Was now the time for small talk?

“So… what’s the story with the shop?” Willow asked.

Colleen shrugged. “Family business, you know. It was our fathers’. He passed away some years ago.”

“Oh. Sorry to bring it up…”

Colleen waved her off. “It was years ago.” She paused to drink some more tea. “We’re no strangers to death either.”

Willow stared at the photograph in her hands again. “So… my mom?”

Colleen seemed to flatter for just a moment before replying. “Influenza. Not too long after you were born.”

Willow didn’t say anything, but she did squeeze the hand Wilson had lent her.

“I figured you’d eventually show up to ask about what happened. You sure took your time, though.”

Willow stared back for what seemed a while before replying. “I never really cared until recently.”

Colleen nearly looked unfazed. “What changed?”

Willow gave her an abridged version of what her and Wilson did the previous day, the latter occasionally popping in to fill in blanks in her memory from when she was a bit too absorbed in her thoughts to retain what was happening around her. They left out some minor details of course; Hell Island in an alternate dimension, monsters, magicians, etc. Only the usual stuff that would get them institutionalized.

The older woman filled her cup again, having drained it, and offered the pot to the others when they had finished talking. They politely declined. Then the silence become uncomfortable again.

“So, you came to Chicago to get things sorted out, hm?”

“I...guess?.” Willow admitted. “Honestly I just wanted to get this over with as fast as I could. But it just… seemed like a now or never sort of thing, I guess.”

“I see.” Colleen put down her cup. “Then in that case do you want the short story or the long one?”

Willow blinked. “How much can you tell me?”

Colleen leaned in with a rather serious expression on her face. “What do you want to hear?”

Willow wasn’t sure where exactly to start. Every question she had felt… loaded. She would begin as benignly as she could. “What was she like?”

Her aunt cracked a small smile. Almost a bitter little smile. “Gwen? She was… well, sweet is a nice way to put it. She never met a stranger.”

Willow’s brows furrowed. “Okay so, that’s the nice way of putting it. How would you put it?”

Colleen leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Naive. She tried to see the good in everyone, even when they were good for nothing.” She looked at Willow again with a sense of urgency. “Listen love”, she began, “I’m not going to mince words today. You came for the truth and I’m going to give it to you. Try not to take it personally. Alright by you?”

Willow was silent, almost transfixed by Colleen’s gaze, but she nodded.

“Right then. Truth be told, I hate your father. I hated him when I meet him, I hated him when he started flirting incessantly with my sister and I hate him now. He…” Colleen’s breath hitched like a word was stuck in her throat and was crawling to come out. “He ruined her.”

Willow’s trance broke and her eyes narrowed. “Gee, thanks for that.”

“Hush girl.” Colleen said, exasperated. “What did I say about taking things personally just now?”

Willow crossed her arms and put on a childlike pout. “No, no, excuse me for ruining my mother. I’ll try not to do that next time.”

“Damn it all, I’m not blaming you for existing or for anything else!” Colleen exclaimed. “You don’t understand, Willow. It was a bad time. He was a bad man. Raymond was a coward and a cad and if I ever see him again I’ll wring his neck.”

Colleen paused her tirade and looked to Wilson suddenly. “Don’t look so aghast, Mr. Higgsbury. I’m sure your fiancé has heard far worse.”

Willow followed her gaze to Wilson and saw a rather put-off expression on his face, the cup in his hand hovering awkwardly above the saucer. If she was in a better mood she would have laughed and teased him a bit. Instead she focused her attention back to the conversation and to Colleen, who was looking more disheveled by the moment.

It seemed like she still had more to say, so Willow prompted her with a new question. “How did you know it was me?”

“Hm?”

“You said I didn’t look like my mom at all. How did you know it was me? Was it this?”

Willow pulled out her lighter and flicked it open, momentarily distracting herself with the flame.

Colleen was quiet for a moment before responding. “He gave her that. She loved it, wouldn’t light anything in the shop without it. It was sickening.” She stopped for a moment and looked at Willow again. “Come to think of it, you don’t look like my sister at all. But you look a lot like him…” She poured more tea into her cup and scowled at her reflection that appeared in the liquid. “A real shame, that.”

Willow was about to comment when she felt a vicious grip on her thigh. Wilson had his fist clenched tight next to him and he glared daggers at Colleen. He was following his better judgement though it seemed by not saying anything, even though he looked furious, which Willow could only be grateful for. She covered his hand with hers and tucked the lighter away slowly.

She cleared her throat. “Miss.”

Colleen raised her gaze from her cup and quirked an eyebrow. “It hurts to talk about, you know.” She put her cup down again. “What you want to know next, I mean. I think I’ve guessed it but go ahead and ask.”

Willow braced herself for the fireworks. “Who was he and what did he do that peeved you off so much?”

Colleen stared at Willow with tired eyes. “I’ll tell you that. Do me a favor though and don’t interrupt. This is hard enough as it is.”

She brought the tea to her lips again, downed the cup, and placed the saucer down with a solid clack of porcelain on wood. And then she began.

“Years ago, after I got married, and after our mother died, my father, Gwen and I hit hard times. We took shifts in the store together while father worked somewhere else. My husband and I… we didn’t make much. The man wanted kids though. Lots of them, bless his heart. He and my father got on well-”

She seemed to catch herself mid-ramble and paused before continuing.

“Anyhow, poor Gwen got saddled with the graveyard shift. That was fine for a while… until Ray showed up.”

She grimaced. “He went by Morrison. His family were real old money; Old World kind of money. He had no business being in our part of town as much as he was.”

“At first” she said, “he just came in to buy candles. Lots of them. We thought it was strange, but we never questioned it. Hey, it was good business, we thought. I finally figured it out one day when I came in to relieve Gwen like usual. He was there. Alone with her. That wouldn’t have been strange, except how she reacted when she saw me. My baby sister was never good at hiding things… always wore her thoughts on her sleeve.”

“I knew then something was going on. Gwen insisted I was being paranoid but I knew the truth; I’m not stupid. We saw him more and more. Gwen was ever the gregarious one, so, so happy to service him when he came in for his weekly orders. I knew he wasn’t right… I _knew_ it. Something was off about him but I just couldn't place it.”

Colleen fell silent again. The room was so quiet now that Willow could hear her own heart pounding in her head. When the numbing, creeping feeling started up in her arms again she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed them furiously to chase away the feeling.

Her aunt started again, having composed herself. “One day she didn’t show up to work. I figured she had slept in somehow so I went to my fathers to check on her…” Silence again. “She was in hysterics. She sobbed her fool head off for nearly an hour before I got a word out of her. Raymond S. Morrison, turns out, was not her knight in shining armor come down from his castle to make her his princess.” Colleen snickered, bitterly. “He had a finacé himself, some pretty little lady with a nice dowry that his folks picked out for him _years_ ago. ‘What did you expect?’ I told her. ‘That he intended to elope with you? With someone like…’”

She shook her head. “She didn’t appreciate it, and if I knew then what we found out later I wouldn’t have said it. I kicked her when she was down. That’s the only thing I regret about this whole thing.”

Willow’s heart sank into her stomach like a rock. She wanted to hold her breath until she was dead.

“Don’t worry, it gets worse.” Colleen said cynically. “I’m sure you can guess what happened next. Morning sickness, fatigue, et cetera et cetera… Your mother was the only reason my father and I didn’t break his door down.”

Willow looked puzzled through the pain. “Why?”

Colleen snorted. “Mercy? Love? Maybe she was just afraid to confront him… We could have ruined him. Instead she let him ruin her. Her life, the respect of our friends and neighbors; she lost everything and was content with it. I’ll never understand what she was thinking.”

Colleen stopped again for a while, so long that Willow almost thought she was finished. Then she got up again and rummaged through a box for a while. Eventually she pulled a piece of card stock out and handed it to her niece. “This is yours. It’s all we have of… of you. When you were here, I mean.”

Willow looked it over. It was a little blotch of ink, no larger than her palm. After a moment she realized what it was; A tiny hand print. There was a date at the bottom in a ladylike scrawl

 

**4/1/1896**

**Willow Devlin**

**Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice!**

 

“Willow,” Colleen said sternly. “If you want something nice to take away from this whole thing let it be this. My sister loved you. You were her whole world after you were born. I… I don’t want to you leave without knowing that.”

Willow resisted the urge to crush the card in her hands.

_My sister loved you._

She slowly, deliberately raised her head to lock eyes with Colleen. “She’s dead.”

“Yes.”

_You were her whole world. She loved you._

“She died when I was a baby.”

“You knew that already.”

 _At least_ **_somebody_ ** _loved you._

“She died. She DIED. SHE’S _DEAD_.” The force of Willow’s outburst seemed to shake the whole room. Wilson jumped in his seat when she slammed her hands on the table and rattled the tea set.

“She’s dead, _Colleen_.” She spat her aunt’s name out venomously. She was acting like an idiot, she knew that, but right now she didn’t care. “‘She loved me??’ What am I supposed to do with that? What can I do with that after twenty five years? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is it supposed to make me feel okay?? What good did her love do me?”

Colleen’s eyes widened in shock and anger. “It stopped my father from drowning you in the sink, you little ingrate!”

“Oh, well isn’t that just _great!”_ Willow snarled. “Should I kiss your feet now? Should I thank you for not smothering me with a pillow first, or can that wait until after I thank you for leaving me in an orphanage to rot?”

Colleen stood up a pointed a finger right in Willow’s face. “You listen to me and you listen well, girl. We bent ourselves over backwards to support my sister. I had five children of my own. My father was sick. My husband sicker. We were  _not_ at fault for my sister’s poor life choices no matter how much you want to believe it.”

“The only thing I want to believe is that I still have family somewhere who care about me.” Willow shot back. “I guess I was wrong. I shouldn’t have wasted my time.”

“Oh do _shut up_ , Willow. You think I didn’t care about your wellbeing? At _all_ ? Use your head for God’s sake, we were starving! We could barely pay rent. What good would _that_ have done for you? Don’t you understand? I gave you away because I thought you would have a better life.”

“ _I DIDN’T!”_

Willow’s voice rang out through the house. Her outburst was followed by a deafening silence that made her ears ring.

Colleen said nothing. Her expression was blank. It seemed like she was there, and at the same time somewhere else entirely, like she was living in a distant memory.

Willow was shaking. Her voice quivered as she repeated herself. “I didn’t… I didn’t. I had _nothing._ I had no one.”

Silence.

“...I didn’t have a better life, Colleen.”

Silence.

Wilson stood to take Willow by the arm, tugging gently to lead her out of the room. When another minute passed of Colleen’s quiet she relented, finally turning away.

Just as they reached the stairs to leave, the two heard a meek voice call out to them.

“I’m sorry.”

Willow stopped and stared at her aunt. Her back was facing the two, shoulders slumped. She turned her head to face the pair, her eyes far away and sad. “I’m sorry, Willow. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out.”

Colleen turned her head back towards the table and started to put away her china. “I really am… I wish I could do something about it.”

Willow stood in silence for a moment. She pulled away from Wilson and slowly started to walk back towards the table. “I don’t want you to do anything.” She said. “I don’t need your help.”

Colleen harrumphed. “Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to need anything from me after all this time.”

She placed down her cups and turned around, facing her niece with a fierce expression. “But if you don’t want my help, you should take my advice. I know what you’re planning. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t.” She placed her hands on Willow’s shoulders for emphasis and for a brief, sweet moment, Willow saw worry in her face. “He’s not worth it. All he’ll bring you is pain.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “I think I’ll decide whether my father is worth it or not.”

Colleen sighed deeply, a frustrated, agonized sound that betrayed her stoicism. “That’s what I thought you would say. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted.”

She released Willow’s shoulders. “I think it’s time you two left.”

“Agreed.”

Willow and Wilson descended the stairs together, his hand resting protectively at the small of her back. She didn’t look behind her, but she could feel Colleen’s eyes burning holes in the back of the head.

\--

“Willow?”

They were outside now. Wilson was trying to hail a cab. He addressed her again, with great concern.

“Hm? Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

Willow sighed. “I don’t… know. I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Willow hugged herself again. “I think I’m done talking for today. Maybe forever.”

Wilson stifled a chuckle. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I ruined everything.”

“This again? Willow, you couldn’t help what happened to your mother. It isn’t your-”

“No, not that! I…” She trailed off to swallow a sob that threatened to erupt from her lungs. She would not cry today. She wouldn’t. “I burned the only bridge I had left. If Colleen didn’t hate me before she definitely hates me now…”

Wilson frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, she doesn’t hate you. I think she’s just... “ Wilson paused so to phrase his words carefully. “Scared. We did drop in unannounced…”

Willow didn’t say anything.

“Oh, blast it! Willow, if she hates you she has to be the dumbest woman alive!”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

"Willow, you tried. You gave it your all, if Colleen comes around, then great. But if she doesn't, then that's her loss!"

She opened her mouth to retort, only for his finger to kiss her lips closed. 

“Ah ah ah, you said you were done talking!” Wilson exclaimed. “So you’re just going to have to stand right here and listen to all the reasons you’re the most wonderful person in the world and how anyone would be lucky to know you.”

There was a wildfire burning in Willow’s cheeks. She couldn’t fight back the small smile that crept up on her lips. “Now you’re just overdoing, fluffy.”

“Hush love.” Wilson said, “My lecture begins now and I’m not stopping until we get back to the hotel room. Maybe forever.”

Willow laughed. “Alright you are _way_ overdoing it now.”

“Scientifically Supported Reason for Willow being the Best Person in the Conceivable Universe No. 1…”

She was content to let him prattle on in the taxi the whole way back to their room, and though she pretended to be annoyed, she listened to every word he had to say.

He loved her.

And he was here.


End file.
